Superman
by Silver Weasley
Summary: He may be able to fly sometimes but Peter Petrelli is no Superman. [petercentric, oneshot, spoilers for 1x14]


**Superman**

_S__ummary: _He may be able to fly sometimes but Peter Petrelli is no Superman. petercentric, oneshot, spoilers for 1x14

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own _Heroes, _sadly enough for me.

_Author's Note_: Woo, first _Heroes _fic ever! This is on the short side for me but I enjoyed writing it. Peter is one of the most intriguing characters for me and I really enjoy trying to get inside his head. I randomly was listening to music and the idea for this occured to me--the lyrics for Five For Fighting's _Superman _are a _Heroes _fic waiting to happen. Anyways, read, and as always, review!

_--_

_I can't stand to fly,  
I'm not that naïve.  
Men weren't meant to ride  
With clouds between their knees_

_ I'm only a man in a silly red sheet  
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street  
Only a man in a funny red sheet  
Looking for special things inside of me_

--"Superman" by Five For Fighting

--

On the good days, Peter thinks he could maybe be okay with this.

You know. The whole 'I absorb superpowers' thing.

Maybe, he decides, _maybe _it could be a good thing. It's certainly come in handy a few times, like when he falls off the bleachers or when Claude shoves him off the building and he figures out maybe he can do it on his own.

But really, some part of him knows that he's not supposed to be doing this.

'Cause honestly? Nurses don't save the world.

Nurses, Peter thinks bitterly, don't really save anybody—at least not the kind of nurse he is. Hospice nurses make things comfortable for a dying person, take care of them, comfort them. They don't rush in with some miracle drug or whatever and cure the person forever.

Peter hates the limelight anyway and much prefers living in his successful older brother's shadow. All that expectation, all those people staring at you, just waiting for you to screw something up—he honestly doesn't know how Nathan takes it, because he sure as hell couldn't.

Can't.

_Won't._

And then he finds out that no, he really _isn't _supposed to save the world—dammit, he's supposed to _destroy _it. The dreams are so intense, so real; he absorbs some power that's too much for him, something that burns white-hot from the inside out, something poisonous and evil and oh God, they're all going to die, he can't hold it in and he can't rid himself of it and _he hates it._

_I never asked for this! _Peter screams mentally in those dreams. _I don't want this! _

Part of him is wary of this power that is all his own, the power to see the future without a paintbrush; a fleeting glimpse of what will come. He doesn't understand what he's supposed to do about the dreams or how he's supposed to control them or if it means he can change what he sees.

He doesn't really know much of anything these days.

Peter is empathetic, sensitive—he always has been. He supposes that his power of absorption or whatever the hell you're supposed to call it comes from that, the need to connect with and understand people, the uncanny and extraordinary intuitiveness he's become used to over the years.

He thinks that out of all the powers he's tried on so far, he likes flying the best, though the regenerating is probably the most useful.

Flying, though he's never really done it full-out, is exhilarating and beautiful and more than anything Peter wishes he had been born a bird. Birds are meant to fly.

Peter isn't.

It all comes back to that—that he never should have been given this…this…whatever it is. _Never. _He's not really that brave or special or strong or anything at all, and he's just going to blow up New York City anyway if everything goes according to the Universe's whacked-out plan.

He can't handle it, okay? He's a nurse, not a _hero. _He may be able to fly sometimes but Peter Petrelli is no Superman.

He thinks of Claire, of Hiro (wherever he is), of Isaac, of Nathan, of Claude, of that strange cop back in Texas. Why are they so connected? Why can Claire regenerate, Hiro bend time, Isaac paint the future, Nathan fly, Claude turn invisible, the cop read minds? Why can Peter do all of it?

Mohinder explains that it's a genetic mutation of sorts, an anomaly, but Peter, for all his medical training, can't wrap his mind around it. A gene is microscopic, invisible. How, he wonders, could a _gene _do all this?

Maybe it's evolution. Maybe it's a gift, a second chance to do something worthwhile. Hell, maybe it's a horrible mistake for all Peter knows.

Maybe, a tiny voice in the back of his head murmurs, it's fate.

He doesn't care, not really. If only he can make it stop or get some reigns on this thing and slow it down, then he thinks he could do it. Whatever _it _is. Claude is supposed to teach him how to control the power, make it his own, and maybe then it'll be Claude who can save the day, if only through Peter.

Peter hates to dwell on it and the thousands of other troubled thoughts that crowd his mind (Simone and Isaac on the roof, for one). Even though he knows it's stupid and won't help at all, he goes back to that roof and sits on the ledge, feet dangling thirty stories above the ground.

_Do it for yourself, _that same small voice from before prompts. _Just this once, okay?_

Peter closes his eyes and breathes deep, familiar city air filling his lungs, almost pure in the early morning. The sun is half-risen, pale light illuminating everything, warming his face, glinting off the reflective surfaces of surrounding buildings. He shivers, at once hesitant and grimly determined. Nagging doubts that he might screw this up royally—no Nathan this time, no Claire, and he might forget to picture her if something goes wrong and he freaks—but another part of him doesn't care.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to live for anymore," Peter mutters to himself, fists clenching on his knees. "I don't even know what I am."

He repeats this once, twice, three times, and wonders why he's so nervous about this.

"Well, here goes nothing," he says softly.

He turns his face to the sun, lets it blind him for a moment and then pushes himself off the building.

Peter falls down, down, down, and for a moment he almost wants to just hit the pavement without so much as a second thought. Unbidden, Nathan's annoyed face floods his mind (complete with the patented "Oh-God-Peter-Not-Again" expression) and Peter feels the power rise to the surface too fast to control.

Three feet from the ground, Peter Petrelli spreads his arm and a warm undercurrent seems to almost propel him upwards. He shoots bullet-like past the building he just jumped off of, goes beyond it to the light…and for a few glorious moments, he sort of feels free as he keeps sailing on up.

Up, up, and away, he thinks, half-smiling despite himself, to what might just be destiny.


End file.
